


July

by bunbbi



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Kinda choppy writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 06:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbbi/pseuds/bunbbi
Summary: Is it hot in here, or is it just me?





	July

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat a character study of their relationship/dynamic, so lots of connected but random scenes of the two. Please enjoy!

The first time Jake stays at Sherry’s apartment, she worries about how it wouldn’t be big enough for him, that he’d probably bump his head against the doorway (and he does, multiple times) or that the expanse of her living room wasn’t enough to contain his ridiculously long legs.

“You talk about me like I’m some kinda new breed of BOW.” Jake smirked and jerked his head. “Can’t you just admit you’re happy to see me?”

She doesn’t take the bait, rolling her eyes and grabbing extra pillows and blankets for him.

With the way she was smiling though, he didn’t need to hear her say it.

Sherry is thankful, at least, that she had the hindsight to purchase a sofa bed when she first moved in. It was wide and long enough to accommodate all 190cm of Jake, and she’s confident he’d get a good night’s rest.

Not that either of them could get a wink of sleep, knowing they were separated only by a few inches of walls and her bedroom door.

Jake blames it on the heat of July.

 

\---

 

There are nights when they sit across the dinner table from each other, talking about nothing in particular.

Jake makes her laugh, and he finds that he likes the sound, so he does it even more until she’s kicking him beneath the table and her feet are resting on his thighs and he’s stroking her ankles. They’re small, and soft, and he can’t believe she ran all over mountains and cities on fire once in what feels like many dreams ago.

“Jake,” Sherry calls and he looks up at her. There’s a small smile on the corner of her lips that sends a jolt down his spine, but he doesn’t know why. “I’m glad you’re here.”

An unfamiliar warm feeling spreads in his chest and he blinks. Then he pulls her big toe and she starts laughing and kicks him again.

 

\---

 

“You can’t be serious.”

Sherry's hand drops to her thigh in defeat as Jake puts on the first of three films in a series of old monster movies. She was curled up on the sofa bed beside him, and even if she grit her teeth through the whole thing Jake was more than happy just to have her close to him.

“Could be useful in our field.” Jake grins. “You never know.”

It wasn’t, actually, but they talked and argued over the whole thing so it hardly mattered.

About 10 minutes into the third film, Sherry began to doze off. Another 20 minutes in and she’d completely passed out. Jake didn’t even realize until he noticed she stopped responding to his quips. He craned over, exasperated at how peaceful and content she looked with leaving him to talk and argue with himself for who knows how long. How dare she! He wanted to tease her, get back at her.

He pokes and prods her cheek but she doesn't respond. Not even a squirm.

Before he can stop himself he’s stroking her face with his thumb. Sweetly, and far gentler than he knew himself capable of.

“Jake.”

Her pink lips mutter his name and he jerks away.

Sherry kicks down the blanket, too stuffy and warm, but doesn’t wake.

Jake remains on his side of the sofa for the rest of the night.

 

\---

 

Sherry still sleeps with at least one light on. Old habits from when she was a child. Old habits she supposed she never outgrew. But she’s grateful, because when she wakes from a dream of her father’s arm bursting and mutating and warping (a dream she’s had so many times she’s stopped counting), the warm glow of her bedroom lamp grounds her back in reality.

She shuffles into the bathroom as quietly as she can, so as not to wake Jake, and just stares at herself in the mirror. Washes the sweat off her face. Then stares again. Wondering if she’d ever just _feel_ normal if _being_ normal was impossible.

There’s a soft knock on the door and she nearly jumps.

“You fall in the toilet, super girl?” Came Jake’s voice, rough with sleep, and she settles back down.

The door opens with a soft click and there’s surprise on his face. Did she look that vulnerable?

She feigns a smile. “Sorry to wake you. Did you need to use the bathroom?”

“No,” he says. “Just checking up you.”

She bites the inside of her lip. As aloof as Jake pretended to be, he was always more thoughtful and considerate than she ever expected in the time they'd spent together. She hangs her head, eyes stinging with tears and breathes.

“I had a bad dream.”

There was a sheen of sweat on her neck all the way down her collar, though Jake couldn't discern if it was from her nightmare or simply the summer humidity. His eyes soften, concluding it was both, and hovers, unsure if he should hold her, pat her back, or say _something_. He was the one who came out here to make her feel better, and suddenly he didn’t know what to do. Before he could make a decision, Sherry reaches out and tugs his pinky finger innocently.

“Sleep with me tonight.”

He knows it wasn’t what it sounded like, but he still chokes.

Nothing left to say, Sherry returned to her bedroom, leaving the door open and Jake follows, shutting it behind him. She’s already crawled back into bed by the time he gets there, face half buried in the pillow and when he doesn’t climb in right away she calls for him, and he answers, slipping under the covers and facing her.

Her eyes are shut tight and Jake’s mind is racing with a million things to say, anything that isn’t a stupid joke or won’t make her feel worse. So he chooses not to, instead taking her sweat-laden palms on the pillow in his, squeezing firmly, and realizes she’s trembling. And he doesn’t blame her. Doesn’t think her weak or fragile. Because he’s seen what her hands could do. They’d saved him multiple times before, punching J’avo off him and pulling him up over the edges of cliff-sides when his footing gave way. So even when she tried to hide it, how scared she was, he didn’t, not for one second, doubt she was still the same woman who stared hard into his eyes and challenged him to take responsibility for himself.

Tentatively he brings her knuckles to his lips and kisses them. She sniffles and sighs in appreciation and he hopes it's enough.

 

\---

 

There’s something unspoken about how Sherry washes her clothes with Jake's and how he always buys coffee for two. It’s a quiet, unfamiliar feeling that neither of them bring up. Though they constantly come close to, when their stares linger too long or when their hands brush against each other.

And when they finally get around to finishing the last of the monster movies from many nights ago, Jake is the one who falls asleep first. Sherry gets annoyed, but she can’t bring herself to wake him. Not when he was sleeping so soundly, the weariness that was burned in the hard lines of his jaw nowhere to be seen, and he always looked tired. But these days she felt she saw less of his scowl, and more of his smile. Genuine and soft, not like the teasing grin he liked to give her (though admittedly, she liked that too).

She scoots closer, enough to feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, and whispers something she swears he can’t hear but his hand twitches and she thinks she sees the briefest quirk in his lips, but he doesn’t move, and his breathing doesn’t change, so she brushes it off and rests her head on his shoulder, and falls asleep.

 

\---

 

Playing piano wasn’t a skillset that helped Jake when confronted with flesh-eating zombies, but he was good at it, so he indulged when he could. Sherry seemed to be aware of this, digging up an old keyboard from her closet so he could flex his fingers when he got too antsy from sitting still.

“When did you learn to play?” she asks one afternoon.

“Dunno. Four? Five? Used to watch my mom play. She was good at it--way better than me. Then she got sick and died.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, sincere. And Jake suddenly remembers their conversation about her father in the snowy cabin.

“She couldn’t even move by the end of it, so I taught myself, hoping it would make her feel better.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “A lot of help that did.”

Sherry places her hand on his, stopping him mid-play but her eyes are warm and kind when he looks up.

“I’m sure it did.”

He doesn’t answer, but childishly hopes that she's right.

 

\---

 

Jake doesn’t hit his head on the doorway anymore. And the sofa bed had gone unused for some time as he and Sherry began sharing her bed together. Her bad dreams also became less and less frequent, going so far as to shut off her lamp at night, feeling safe in Jake's company.

Aside from those things, not much between them changed.

Only, and they didn't know when it started, maybe later that month, they don't recall, but Jake began to call her “cherry.”

Likewise, Sherry called him “the apple of her eye.”

And it was so terrible and so disgustingly out of character but they don't stop, and the nicknames stick until they get used to it and no longer giggle at how stupid it all sounded. Because nicknames were things reserved for friends or lovers, and they didn’t know where they stood in that regard, because friends didn’t cuddle in bed and share almost kisses on cheeks and noses, but neither had they breathlessly professed their undying love and affection to be considered a couple either.

Maybe it didn't matter. But it would be nice, Jake thinks, to tell Sherry how he feels. All that flowery, emotional bullshit that he was still trying to get a handle on.

And when she calls him that damn nickname that always puts a goofy smile on his face, he believes she’d feel the same way.

 


End file.
